


Howling

by gwennolmarie



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Coming In Pants, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Grinding, Kissing, Leg Humping, M/M, Pre-Canon, Shifted Sex, Wack, Werewolf John, Werewolves, born werewolf john, but it's a really light shift so, how many times do i gotta use that before it's a tag?, this was supposed to be angst sdlkbdlkjn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 22:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17496365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Look at me, John.”John lifts his head slowly and looks into the soft gaze Arthur levels him with.Ruins him with, as he sees the fondness in the older man’s eyes.“I’d die for you, John Marston. I’d do anythin’ for you,” Arthur says, quiet but firm.Like nothing could ever change his mind.





	Howling

**Author's Note:**

> my excuse is the wolf moon

****

It itches, at first.

The kinda of slight twitching of nerves that makes you think there are bugs crawling over your skin, prickling the hairs on your arms.

Then it _burns._

John hisses into the older man’s shoulder.

Arthur has been with him for every transformation since John joined the gang.

\--

When Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur had saved him from being hanged, he’d lied.

Told them with a hoarse voice that he’d stolen and that was why the men were angry.

The lie worked, but only until the morning before the full moon.

John had been antsy, flinching away from loud sounds and even the lightest touches, retreating to his and Arthur’s tent and packing as much as he could fit in the satchel Hosea had given him.

Arthur had come into their tent and John had frozen.

Unable to hide what he was doing.

 _“You goin’ somewhere?”_ Arthur had asked, tensely.

 _“I gotta,”_ John had replied.

_“So you’re just gonna turn your back on us?”_

_“You won’t want me here, once you know.”_

Arthur had trapped him in the tent, wearing the younger down over the next hour until John admitted it.

It had taken another hour to convince Arthur he wasn’t pulling the older man’s leg.

\--

“How long you got?” Arthur murmurs into John’s hair.

“Couple’a minutes,” John answers through gritted teeth.

“You wanna run through it?”

“No!” John protests immediately, burrows closer to Arthur, “No, just…”

Can’t quite bring himself to say it, regardless of the fact they’ve done this over a hundred times.

 _‘Hold me,’_ John wants to say.

“Okay,” Arthur soothes, always understanding.

You don’t live with someone for almost a decade, and not learn to hear the unspoken words.

Not learn to feel the emotions coming off someone.

Radiating from them.

The older man wraps his arms a little tighter around the younger man, running a light hand up and down John’s side.

When John was younger, werewolves were all around his town, some turned into actual wolves, some grew into monstrous hybrids.

Some went feral, had to be put down.

Others simply gained puppy-like demeanors.

John was an outlier.

Still is.

His wolf-blood is diluted enough he barely changes physically, though his emotions change more.

His teeth grow sharp, nails a little longer, stronger, the hair on his arms thickens.

John trembles against the renewed wave of discomfort that courses through him.

Arthur grabs one of his hands and squeezes it tightly while John shudders.

John holds on.

Clings.

Feels his the bones in his jaws flexing as the wider, pointier teeth take shape.

Feels his nailbeds start to ache as his claws form and carefully pulls his hand away from Arthur’s.

Joins it with the other in his lap and takes mindfully-even breaths.

“You’re almost there,” Arthur murmurs into his hair.

John feels the shift, within himself, within his brain.

His thoughts turn softer, more poignant and simple.

He’s always needier, like this.

Craving affection, attention.

It was bad last time, lingering for days after.

Causing him to stick close to Arthur and begrudgingly, silently ask for physical comfort.

Just the press of Arthur’s leg against his as they sat around the campfire.

Arthur’s hand on his back or shoulder when the older man was talking and John was close.

It wasn’t really enough.

But it was all John was willing to ask for.

He’d admit, though reluctantly, to having a problem.

That problem being his longing for something more, when it comes to Arthur.

He stomps down on the feelings whenever they arise.

Berates himself for fantasizing about the older man.

Whether it’s just the thought of being able to hold Arthur’s hand whenever he wanted.

Or the thought of Arthur’s weight pressing down on him as they grind against each other.

Or the thought of Arthur’s hand around his throat as the older man thrusts into him.

John tries to shove away the want building in him.

The baser part of his brain yelling at him to just _ask_.

The more rational part scolding him.

Viciously hissing that Arthur would _never_.

John swallows against the tight feeling in his throat and shoves his heated forehead into the side of Arthur’s neck.

Arthur murmurs soft, unintelligible words of comfort.

John appreciates them anyway.

Arthur’s hand squeezes John’s waist as John shifts his legs.

He’s sitting sideways in Arthur’s lap, can feel the cords of muscle in Arthur’s arm across his back.

John carefully brings a hand up, mindful of his claws, and rubs at his achy jaw.

“Hurt more than usual?” Arthur asks softly, bringing his other hand up to brush back John’s messy hair.

John points up at the sky.

Arthur looks up.

“Oh, Copper Moon,” The older man mutters.

“I’ll be fine,” John grumbles.

Still rubbing his jaw.

“‘Course,” Arthur replies, simply.

Assuredly, like there isn’t a doubt in his mind.

John sits up a little bit and rolls his neck, seeing Arthur wince at the popping sound his joints make.

John is reluctant to move much further away.

This was a recent thing, Arthur holding him close.

He wasn’t complaining.

John knew he was the kind to be given an inch and take a mile.

Arthur had let him crawl close on during one particularly bad shift and it just…

Became a thing.

Became _their_ thing.

Arthur moves the hand from John’s waist to run up and down the younger man’s spine.

The knobs that they can never quite get to disappear, no matter how much John eats.

“You hungry?” Arthur asks, thinking of the dried beef he’d packed.

“No.”

“Okay,” Arthur gently squeezes the back of John’s neck, “You wanna lay down?”

John hesitates, then nods.

Crawls off of Arthur to flop down on their pushed-together bedrolls.

When he was younger, restless without a pack, he’d run the whole night of a shift, sticking to the woods and staying away from humans.

Arthur scoots down and turns to lay next to John.

The younger immediately turns to face him.

Arthur covers them with their blankets, layered against the autumn night's chill.

John shoves one arm under his head and fists the other in the front of Arthur’s shirt.

Scared, no matter how many times Arthur stays with him, that the other will leave while John sleeps.

Arthur slides a hand over John’s waist and lets his fingers lazily soothe over the back of John’s ribs.

John tucks his head against Arthur’s chest and closes his eyes.

Startled to feel a heat building in his stomach.

This had happened once before, last year if he recalls, a gnawing _hunger_ that stole his breath and jacked up his heartbeat.

He’d ended up running away, into the woods that night, crawling up into a tree and not coming down despite Arthur’s worried protests.

He’d lied the next day and said he didn’t recall doing anything of the sort.

Said that memory lapses happened to wolves sometimes.

Didn’t mention that it only happens to the ones that go feral.

John lets out a shaky breath and feels Arthur’s thumb dig into the thin flesh of his back, soothingly.

Blissfully ignorant of the growing _want_ in John.

John closes his eyes tighter and tries to slow his breathing.

Tries to force himself to sleep through it.

\--

John doesn’t realize he’d actually fallen asleep until he wakes up again.

The pale light of the moon, silver now rather than copper, illuminates the high points of Arthur’s face.

The swell of his cheekbone, the angle of his jaw, the strong line of his nose, and his cupid’s bow.

John aches to touch, to ghost his fingertips over the scars and stubble.

Doesn’t dare.

Shifts back slightly and inhales sharply when he realizes how hard he is.

One of them kicked off the covers while they slept.

Enough heat between them without the added wool.

John shifts a little further back and sees Arthur’s brows furrow.

The hand curled around his waist tugs his back in.

Presses their fronts flush in a long line.

“Arthur,” John whispers.

The older man’s nose twitches and eyelids slowly lift to look at John sleepily.

More content than John has ever seen the older man.

John swallows thickly.

“What?” Arthur murmurs.

“Let me move back,” John says softly.

Arthur grumbles and lets go, stretches his arms up and rolls onto his back.

Blinks up at the stars and rubs his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur grumbles.

John struggles to think of an excuse.

Turns away from Arthur and curls up slightly.

It’s so much colder, without Arthur’s heat against him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Arthur repeats, moves closer to lean over John.

John closes his eyes and tries to twist his lower body in a way to hide himself.

Arthur’s gentle fingertips brushing over his hip don’t help.

The touch feels like fire, even through the layers of cotton.

“John?” Arthur asks, then yawns.

Starts to pull back the hand on John’s hip to cover his mouth, with his other supporting him.

John snatches his wrist, lightning fast, aiming to keep the touch against him.

Immediately lets go when he realizes what he’s done, completely unconsciously.

Arthur lets his hand hover in the air between them.

“Hey,” Arthur murmurs once his jaw is back together.

“It’s nothin’,” John mutters.

“Obviously it ain’t nothin’,” Arthur says softly, with concern.

John turns onto his back and resolutely looks at the sky, and not Arthur’s face.

Can practically feel Arthur’s eyes scanning him, pausing when his gaze goes low enough.

“So you’re…” Arthur clears his throat lightly, “Embarrassed?”

“I think it’s a wolf thing,” John mutters.

“How so?”

“It happened before, it’s… A different kinda feelin’,” John says hesitantly.

Arthur is quiet for a few too many seconds.

John feels his already quickened heartbeat spike a little higher.

“That time you split and crawled up a tree?” Arthur guesses.

John grunts an affirmative.

Arthur hums quietly.

Contemplative.

“How’s it different?” The older man asks.

“It’s… Sharper n’ stronger,” John mutters and covers his eyes with one hand, “It ain’t just a heat it’s a _hunger_.”

Arthur hums again, a little quieter.

“You wanna do somethin’ ‘bout it?”

John rips his hand away from his eyes to stare wildly at the older man.

Arthur lifts the hand not supporting him innocently.

“I ain’t sayin’ you gotta, but you ain’t gotta suffer either,” Arthur shrugs then looks out into the forest, “I can fuck off for a bit.”

“No,” John says quickly.

“No?” Arthur looks back to the younger, curious.

“Don’t… leave me,” John murmurs.

“Okay,” Arthur soothes and moves to lay back down.

Both outlaws on their backs, only a few inches between their shoulders.

John re-covers his eyes and grunts quietly.

Annoyed with his body.

Annoyed with whatever this new feeling is.

He feels and hears Arthur turn towards him.

Peeks out between his fingers to see the older man studying him.

“Is it just me?” Arthur guesses.

“Shit,” John bites out and tilts his head away, “Yeah.”

Arthur hums again, more assuring than the previous times.

A hand brushes over John’s hollowed stomach, curls around the hipbone furthest from Arthur.

John tenses.

Doesn’t fight when Arthur turns him to face the older man.

Pulls him close.

John keeps a hand over his eyes.

Isn’t prepared for the feeling of lips on his own.

He gasps against Arthur’s mouth and the older man squeezes his hip lightly.

Guides him through the motions of gentle presses of lips.

Lightly catches John’s lower lip between his teeth.

John pulls his hand away from his eyes but doesn’t open them.

Tangles his fingers in the hair behind Arthur’s temple.

John can’t help but push closer.

Greedily trying to connect as much of their bodies as he can.

The hand on his hip tugs him even closer and Arthur’s knee shoves between John’s legs.

John gasps and ducks his head into Arthur’s neck as the older man’s thigh presses up against his cloth-bound cock.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmurs and hikes John’s hips a little higher on his thigh.

John moves his hand down from Arthur’s hair to grip the older man’s upper arm.

“Arthur,” John whimpers, “What…?”

“You just do what you gotta,” Arthur soothes, petting over the hard edge of John’s hipbone.

“Fuck,” John whispers, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you lettin’ me?” John asks, hushed and miserable.

“I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Look at me, John.”

John lifts his head slowly and looks into the soft gaze Arthur levels him with.

Ruins him with, as he sees the fondness in the older man’s eyes.

“I’d die for you, John Marston. I’d do anythin’ for you,” Arthur says, quiet but firm.

Like nothing could ever change his mind.

John chokes on the thick feeling in his throat and leans into lightly press his lips to Arthur’s.

Gently rocks his hips against the older man’s thigh.

Arthur kisses him back.

Somehow it’s just as, if not more, soothing than any of the soft words the man has lavished him with, in the past.

Just as soothing as the soft touches, the engulfing hugs that warm him through and fill him with a sense of belonging.

He feels like he belongs here.

Open and under the moonlight.

Unfearing of the man holding him, helping him.

Knowing that Arthur’d give everything for him.

Arthur never deepens the kiss.

Keeps it light even as John’s hips jerk against his leg.

Even as the younger cries, whines, and pants against his mouth.

Arthur runs his hand up and down John’s side then wraps it around the back of the younger’s small waist.

Content to hold John against him.

“Ah,” John pulls back, looks up at the older man, gasping as he rocks his hardness into the firm muscle of Arthur’s thigh, “Arthur?”

“Yeah?” Arthur asks, looking at the younger in a way that makes John feels adored.

“Gonna,” John hisses, “Gonna…”

“Go ‘head now, I got you,” Arthur murmurs and moves his leg up in time with each grinding motion of John’s hips.

John moans and the hand on Arthur’s arm flies down to squeeze the side of Arthur’s hip.

Claws biting through the fabric.

John cries out the older man’s name.

Desperate and pleading.

Over and over.

Sobbing.

_Howling._

Arthur murmurs soothing words the entire time, through John’s climax, when the younger slumps against him, as he cleans John up and as he presses his lips to John’s temple.

Holding the younger tight as they sink under, sleeping peacefully in the silvery light. 

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me with my Super Original Title skdjhbdsfkjh 
> 
> tumblr @gwennolmarie or @providentialeyes


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